The summer day is a sacred shame;

Naked, bearing infinite skies, and

more light than our bodies could hold

without flaring away…

So in the day, our eyes are barely open…

The day won’t let us keep, the impossible

delight of their secret, that timid snail

which must crawl back now,

retrace its glistening trail

to where the Earth

once opened for us.

That cool requiem of pasts

where secrets thrive

in dry, fateless comfort… 

Eternal dusk of a few early stars,

and a slight moon drying after

a noon-tide wash…

Inchoate desires,

and the bold, everlasting

right of inaction..